


Twenty Cakes

by thefirstlightofmorning



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Comfort Food, Comfort Sex, Cunnilingus, F/M, Food Sex, Frilly Cakes, Oral Sex, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:21:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27283336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefirstlightofmorning/pseuds/thefirstlightofmorning
Summary: A Paladin, a Sole Survivor and twenty Fancy Lads Snack Cakes that lead them to finding comfort in each other.
Relationships: Paladin Danse/Female Sole Survivor
Comments: 7
Kudos: 52





	Twenty Cakes

**Author's Note:**

> Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing. Trigger warning for mentions of death, violence, emotional abuse and fantastic racism. Random AU Danse/Sparrow smut because Danse is sexy! Repost from an old username to a new one.

“I’m sorry!”

The Vault Dweller’s voice _sounded_ genuinely apologetic but Danse was too busy feeling the pain of blistered skin on his hands and face to pay much attention for her. He clenched his fists, triggering the auto-stimpak function in his power armour, and waited for the sweet tingling relief of the painkillers in the healing agent to kick in before responding. Other than hitting the rocket button (which _did_ have the effect of wiping out the twenty or so synths dog-piling him while he sent the civilian to trigger the auxiliary generator), she’d obeyed orders during the operation and managed to hit the enemy at least half the time. Not bad for a cryogenically frozen pre-War housewife with an unmodded pistol trying to find her son in the Wasteland where she’d be lunch for half the inhabitants… and probably dinner for the other half.

“Are you alright?” Sparrow approached gingerly, pulling out a dusty stimpak from her belt-pouch, radstag-doe eyes wide with worry.

“I’m cooked but I’ll live,” he grunted. “Pick up what you can carry and let’s go find this deep-range transmitter of Haylen’s.”

“Yes, sir.” She was obedient, sifting through the ashes and melted plastic to find pistols and useful components. He’d have to teach her how to scrap them properly.

“Let’s go,” he commanded when she was done.

The elevator carried them up to another office where _more_ synths waited. Danse would have been pleased at the excess of Institute activities in this area if he hadn’t been shepherding a slender, wide-eyed Vault Dweller who was too helpless and attractive for her own good.

Still, they were the last ones standing after Sparrow got lucky with a fragmentation grenade. “Why didn’t you think to throw that instead of cooking me alive earlier?” he demanded after pulling off his helmet, glaring down at her.

Her eyes widened and bottom lip trembled. Eternal Steel help him, she was going to cry.

“Because I fucking tripped on a bit of trash, you giant tin can!” she yelled at him instead. “If it wasn’t for me, you’d be still fighting off ferals at the police station!”

She went to sort through the tangles of metal and plastic, muttering highly uncomplimentary things about his likely ancestry, which was apparently rich in biological diversity. Finally she found something that looked like a transmitter and asked, “Is this what you want?”

Danse nodded. “It is.”

“Good. Take it and fuck off.” _Now_ she sounded like crying.

The Paladin felt ashamed. She wasn’t just a civilian, she was prey in a world full of predators, and she’d managed to survive the mission. “I’m sorry,” he said awkwardly. “I led a team of seven here and only three of us remain. I shouldn’t have taken out my frustration on you.”

“Boo-fucking-hoo. My _world_ is dead and my son is somewhere out there in the hands of the psychopath who murdered his father!” She walked forward and with insultingly precise care placed the transmitter in his hand and the bag full of Institute weapons over his other arm. “There. Mission accomplished. Go phone home, Paladin, and leave me alone.”

“The mission isn’t accomplished until we return safely to Cambridge Police Station,” he informed her acidly, switching from shame to anger at her harsh words. “What are you going to do out there? Your Vault suit and boots are shreds, your gun pitifully maintained, and you don’t even have the simplest leather armour. I’m fairly certain you don’t have food and water. You owe it to your son to at least accept the payment I promised you.”

She twisted her hands in her chestnut hair so tightly that Danse was almost certain she’d rip it out. “Fuck you!” she screamed. “Fuck you in your fucking power armour and with your big fucking gun and your fucking self-righteous know-it-all attitude! You remind me of my fucking husband!”

Her bitter tone informed Danse that the comparison wasn’t a compliment. And that she had emotional scars from her marriage. Perhaps being widowed, despite the traumatic circumstances surrounding it, was a blessing for her.

Until she returned to the police station, she was effectively an Initiate under his command, and that meant her mental wellbeing was his responsibility. Danse stepped out of his armour, deliberately making himself more vulnerable and accessible to her, and pulled off his hood to show his tousled brown-black hair.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated. “You handled yourself well for the most part, better than many civilians I’ve worked with – and you were right, if not for you, Recon Squad Gladius would be dead.”

Sparrow regarded him with wide, wary eyes that brimmed with tears. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you,” she whispered. “I’m sorry, Paladin Danse.”

“I think we’ve both had a stressful few days,” he conceded. “Come back to the station. I can give you somewhere to sleep, a couple meals and some clean water, and new boots.”

After a long moment she nodded. “Okay. Do you have a shower too?”

Danse shook his head regretfully. “No, but I think we can spare a can of purified water for a wipe-down.”

“Thank you.” Sparrow’s gaze was still wary but she appeared willing to follow him back to the police station.

Danse stepped back into his power armour and returned the items to Sparrow for her to carry before heading for the exit.

…

The Paladin swore as he peered out the window. The dusk was green-tinged charcoal. “Radstorm,” he explained succinctly at her puzzled look. “We’re stuck here until morning.”

Sparrow nodded and sighed inwardly. She really wanted to get away from the rough-voiced soldier with his moments of kindness. He reminded her of Nate at times and… that was a bad thing.

He stepped out of his power armour and rummaged in the compartment for a couple cans of purified water. “I have some rations we can share. I wasn’t expecting the mission to take so long, so I didn’t pack a lot.”

She pulled out a box of Fancy Lads Snack Cakes and some Instamash. “I can add a bit,” she offered carefully.

His eyes lit up at the sight of the cakes. “I haven’t had those in ages,” the Paladin said yearningly.

“If I give you some, will you not snap at me until we get back to the station?” she asked, holding the box by the corner and waving it slightly. His eyes tracked the box like she was hypnotising him.

“I’ll try,” he promised roughly.

Between his Blamco mac and cheese, purified water and her Instamash, they managed to make a solid meal of carbs that would keep her full until tomorrow. When she opened the box of snack cakes, Danse actually stopped what he was doing, like a dog hearing the word “Treat.”

She pulled out one of the cream-filled sponges with their sugary icing and offered it to him. He took it from her with gentle fingers, calluses rasping against her soft palm, and put it in his mouth. His face melted in almost orgasmic ecstasy as he savoured every little chew of the overly sweet treat and Sparrow realised, with a blush, that she was staring at him while he ate.

With his expression relaxed from the sugar, Sparrow realised that Danse was extraordinarily handsome even with the scar on his face and some half-healed burns from her attempt at making broiled Paladin. If he looked at someone the way he did a cake, that someone probably melted into a puddle of warm tingly goo.

She had the next cake ready when his eyes opened, fixing on her. “Eat it,” he urged softly. “You need the energy more than I do.”

She swallowed it, artificial sweetness exploding on her tongue, and licked the bit of cream left on her bottom lip. It hadn’t been intended as seductive but when he sucked in his breath sharply, dirt-brown eyes fixed on her face, she felt a twist of heat low in her belly.

The third cake was his, offered on an upturned palm, and Danse leaned over to eat it directly from her hand, tongue flicking wet and warm through her fingers to catch all the sugar, and Sparrow made a low whimper of need. How long had it been since she felt this way?

The fourth cake was hers, fed to her in little pieces as Danse growled in erotic approval when her tongue wiped across his callused digits. His thumb brushed across her cheek and she gasped softly.

The fifth cake had him leaning over her until she was resting on her elbows, the Paladin kneeling between her legs as he sucked her fingers into his mouth and licked away all the sugary icing and cream.

The sixth cake was popped into her mouth and when she’d swallowed, Danse lay on top of her fully and chased the sweetness by kissing her deeply, tongue exploring the depths of her mouth until she moaned.

Between the seventh to tenth cakes, they’d gotten their suits half-off, Sparrow’s bra shoved up to reveal her soft breasts, each a handful in Danse’s rough fingers as he gently squeezed them, thumbs feathering across the nipples after he’d sucked them to pinkish-red nubs when he’d smeared cream on them. She arched in pleasure and planted an open-mouthed kiss on the join of neck and shoulder, making him shudder in delight, the bulge in his uniform growing bigger.

Her arms had been freed after he’d fed her the twelfth cake, bra discarded somewhere nearby when he threw it away with a growl. The eleventh had seen him tug his arms out from his own uniform, muscles flexing as he adjusted himself to not crush her beneath his weight.

Thirteenth and fourteenth cakes were him kissing down her belly, lips brushing almost reverently across the stretch marks, as he tugged her Vault suit lower alongside her underwear.

Fifteenth saw Danse shove his uniform and boxers down to his knees, cock released from its confinement and purple-red with arousal, pre-cum seeping from its tip. Sixteenth, after she’d dutifully swallowed her cake, had her wrapping her lips around his erection until he groaned hoarsely and pushed her away.

Seventeenth (after drinking some water to wash out the crumbs) had him tasting her wetness when she rolled onto her belly with her ass in the air, boots trapping the Vault suit on her legs. Eighteenth saw her orgasm after being tongue-fucked like he was licking the cream from the centre of a snack cake, her hands scrabbling at the smooth floor from the excess of sensation as his grip tightened hard enough to bruise her hips.

Nineteenth was Danse burying himself balls-deep in her, hands spreading her thighs as wide as they’d go with her knees trapped by her Vault suit, and moaning with the pleasure of a man long denied such things. Twentieth was his cock bringing her to another climax with sharp snaps of the hips while his fingers worked her clit, furry chest rubbing against her back in a pleasant burn until he came with a shuddering growl.

They remained stuck together, panting like they’d run across half the Commonwealth, warm with the afterglow of very enjoyable sex.

“I can see why they don’t let you have Fancy Lads Snack Cakes that often if that’s how you act after eating a few,” Sparrow observed dryly before the silence could extend into awkwardness.

Danse barked harshly, half-rueful, half-embarrassed. “I usually don’t,” he admitted. “I… shouldn’t have, seeing as until we return to the station, I’m your commanding officer.”

“ _Please_ don’t ruin the moment,” Sparrow said with a sigh.

He withdrew from her, leaving her empty and aching at the loss of him, and kissed the top of her head. “I won’t. We should give ourselves a wipe-down and get some sleep. I want to be back at the police station by noon.”

Just like that, he’d gone from lover to soldier as Nate had. But at least his gaze was tender as they cleaned themselves up and went to sleep.

…

Danse could have kicked himself for taking advantage of Sparrow’s loneliness. But once that pink tongue licked the cream from her bottom lip, all unconscious sensuality, his own loneliness drove him to push his luck by licking her fingers. That whimper had driven his duty as a commanding officer out of his mind and put his libido firmly in control.

He curled himself around the slender Vault Dweller and let himself fall into slumber.

The Paladin woke up to his cock being _very_ happy about being pressed up to a small, soft female body. Exasperated with himself, he went to wank and then get dressed. The radstorm had passed and they needed to return to the police station.

Walking back, they were silent. Sparrow’s Vault suit hid the marks of their lovemaking almost as well as his uniform, though her stride was a little stiff. Had he left bruises? It would make him feel more ashamed if he had.

“Have you considered how to find your son?” he asked carefully as they neared the bridge into Cambridge.

“I was told to go to Diamond City,” Sparrow answered quietly.

“The most likely place to start searching for someone.” He stopped walking and placed an armoured hand on her shoulder. “Sparrow, take my rifle. It will serve you better than that lousy pistol.”

“Don’t you need it?” she asked, biting her bottom lip.

“I have backups,” he assured her.

She paused, looking at the lousy lump of metal in her hand, and nodded. He placed the rifle gently in her arms and… unwisely… kissed her on the top of the head.

“Thank you,” she said, radstag-doe eyes warm. “For everything.”

They parted soon after and it was several months before he saw her again. This time in a green shirt and jeans tucked into combat boots, leather armour wrapped in strategic areas around her body and Righteous Authority held competently in her arms.

“Paladin,” she greeted, whiskey-warm voice husky with more than friendliness. “I need the Brotherhood’s help. I have plans to get into the Institute… and some Fancy Lads Snack Cakes.”

Danse found himself smiling. “The Brotherhood doesn’t take bribes. But I _can_ take you to see Elder Maxson, our leader. If you know how to get into the Institute…”

“The plans are for him. The cakes are for you.”

“Will you share them with me?” he asked roughly.

“Maybe, if you make it worth my while.”

As he went to signal for a vertibird, Danse wasn’t just smiling, he was grinning. Fancy Lads Snack Cakes weren’t just the same without her.


End file.
